


To Keep the Night at Bay

by Jaelijn



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Style, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Holidays, Hurt/Comfort, Season/Series 02, Snow, Winter, Winter Solstice, vague spoilers for "Countdown"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:01:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21954802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaelijn/pseuds/Jaelijn
Summary: TheLiberatorcrew are called in to help the rebels on a planet that seems terribly afraid of its winter solstice night. It's all superstition, of course.
Relationships: Kerr Avon & Vila Restal, The Liberator Crew - Relationship
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	To Keep the Night at Bay

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a little late for the proper solstice night, but here it is: my holiday fic for 2019! It's decidedly more plot-heavy than previous holiday fics - and also two years late, since I accidentally overwrote half the file in 2017. But at long last it is done, and more or less along the lines I had always planned it! A little plot, a little drama, a little fluff, and also Gen (or pre-slash, if you want it to be). 
> 
> Enjoy, and Happy Holidays!

They had all scoffed at what they’d thought was mere superstition – so persistent that even a decade of Federation rule hadn’t been able to eradicate it. Avon had, of course, been the only one to voice the thought out loud. In his briefing, Blake had insisted that they honour the locals’ beliefs, though even he had had a hard time considering them worthwhile.

“It can’t be real. Can it?” Vila had asked. Jenna had laughed, Cally had given him one of her indulgent glances and Avon had folded his arms and said: “Of course not. It’s a solstice night, almost all planets have them. Nothing more.”

Jenna, of course, needn’t even have been at the briefing. She was staying on board the _Liberator_ , while the rest of them went down to the planet. Orac could operate the teleport, of course, but it considered the task beneath its capabilities and no one, not even Avon, wanted to rely on the computer in the case of an emergency this deep into Federation space. But the local rebel faction had called for help and had offered supplies in return that they desperately needed on the _Liberator_ , if Cally was to be believed. She’d had Vila’s instant agreement the moment she’d mentioned spare doses of anti-radiation medicine.

Orac could, at least, be relied upon to set them down on the outskirts of the town – an actual, open-aired town rather than the usual domes. They had thought it wise not to appear from thin air in full sight of the locals, especially not on a day as surrounded with superstition as this one, and made their way on foot into the centre. The planet was unspectacular, all things considered, though Vila had rarely seen snow before – here, it was piled up on the side of the walkways to keep them clear, and though it was still day, the dim light was brightened up by cheery strings of fairy lights running down the streets. Their contact, a small, mousy man with greying hair who introduced himself as Tar Heron, met them at an agreed upon central square and then rapidly ushered them through the streets to a building, not even giving Blake time for introductions. Only when the door closed behind them did his nervous manner relax a little.

“Apologies, Blake. The Federation will be out on their final patrol about now – they’ve really stepped up the surveillance, lately. Normally, they do one just before curfew, but with it being the Night…”

They all heard the reference with which Heron uttered the name. Vila caught Avon rolling his eyes.

“We understand,” Blake was saying, in his best diplomatic tone, “we heard about the tradition.”

“Oh, more than a tradition, I assure you,” Heron said. “I should not have suggested this meeting at all if our business could not be conducted indoors. We try not to linger outdoors today, even before dusk.”

Blake cleared his throat a little awkwardly and introduced his companions. “Cally, Vila – and this is Avon, who will be happy to look at your computer.”

Avon’s expression rather belied his happiness, but he didn’t say anything.

“This way, if you please.” Heron took them to the first floor and down an uninspiring beige-painted corridor that even in the rather simplistic Earth domes would have been considered of questionable design. At the corridor’s end, Heron unlocked a door for them and waved them into a computer room.

“Here she is. She’s served us well, but as you can see…”

Avon’s respect for the man visible dropped with each word. When Blake asked him what he thought, his assessment was scathing. “It’s an ancient machine, well before my time. No self-respecting organisation on Earth would entrust their data to such an antique.”

“She has been at the heart of our resistance movement for nearly a decade! If Nans – our computer technician – hadn’t been killed in the last raid, she’d have continued to function perfectly without your help!”

Blake lay a placating hand on Heron’s arm, opening his mouth to sooth the ruffled feathers, but could not get a word out before Avon stepped past him to crouch by the computer access point and muttered, loud enough for all of them to hear, “Ah yes, ten years of the rebellion, and one dead technician to show for. Another martyr for the Cause, I’m sure.”

“Avon!” Blake barked so sharply that Vila flinched. “I apologise, Heron. Avon can be…”

“Difficult to live with?” Heron suggested with profound dislike shining in his eyes. “I can’t imagine.”

“Oh, you couldn’t!” Vila quipped, good-naturedly, ignoring Avon’s half-hearted glare and Cally’s warning glance. However, Vila had judged correctly, and his joviality served to dissolve the tension.

“How long do you need, Avon?” Blake asked evenly.

Mercifully, Avon chose to respond in kind. “I remember some of this from my training. Still, I shall have to overhaul the whole system – it must have required intensive maintenance.”

“She did,” Heron put in bitterly. “Nans’ death was a great loss.”

Avon ignored him, spreading out his tools on the floor as he continued, “I’ll have to do a full assessment for damage, possibly replace several components. It is going to take all night at least, Blake.”

“The _whole night_! And what are the rest of us supposed to do? I told you, you didn’t need me down here!” Vila exclaimed at the same moment that Heron blanched and protested, “But you can’t! We shall have to go into shelter in three hours – even now it is dangerous to be out, with the patrols…”

Avon’s head snapped up. “I might not be _your_ technician, but I assure you even Nans could not have fixed this in three hours. It will take as long as it takes. If you want this done at all, you will have to wait.”

Heron looked downright desperate, clasping Blake’s arm. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful for your help, Blake – but since you have arrived on the Night…”

“I was under the impression that being indoors was the only requirement for safety,” Cally said, before Avon could comment again on the superstition of the locals.

“It is the very least we can do to protect ourselves – it’s much better to be in company, at a celebration where there is a lot of light. It is the only time of the year we allow open flames in the settlement. Being alone, even inside, at this time of the year is the worst of bad omens. Besides, it will be suspicious if someone remains here overnight – the building isn’t residential.”

“Fine.” Avon stretched, massaging his hands to warm them up. “Leave, then. I work better alone anyway, and this room has no windows. I’m sure I shall be safe from the Night.”

“ _Are_ you sure, Avon?” Cally asked.

He gave a nasty grin. “Of course. I don’t put much stock in omens, bad or otherwise.”

Heron frowned but turned to Blake. “I could take you to the celebration of my residential block. There are many there who are loyal to our cause, and guests from other towns are not uncommon. No one will remark upon strangers.”

“A party?” Vila asked, eagerness in his voice already.

“A night of company and remembrance of the light, the promise of its triumph over the dark at this, the dark’s strongest hour,” Heron said. “And yes, I suppose you could call it a party. We won’t be able to return here before the morning.”

“Are you certain you want to stay here alone, Avon?” Blake asked. “I’m sure Cally wouldn’t mind remaining…”

“How many times – there’s no need. You’ll only be in my way. Just _go_ , Blake.”

“Keep your bracelet on.”

“Yes, of course,” Avon answered absently, already poking at wires with an analyser. 

Heron hustled them rapidly through the streets, avoiding the roaming patrols and making haste before the rapidly falling night. The party, held in the large common room of Heron’s home residential complex, was already in full swing and they were hastily ushered inside, a definite snick of the door shutting out the night. It was very hot in the room; large fires were lit in two wall recesses that seemed to be designed for that very purpose. The residents had pinned up strings of green leaves for decoration, along with the ubiquitous fairy lights. Despite the Federation’s own obsession with bright lighting, the crew from the _Liberator_ had seldomly seen more light sources in a single room.

Heron introduced them to a few colleagues and gave each of them a glowing brooch to be pinned to their clothes. It turned each guest into a source of yet more light, and from Heron’s explanation, it was something like a protective charm – an aide for the forces of light to overcome darkness. To Vila’s great disappointment, alcohol did not count as such an aid. There was none at all at the party – something about having to maintain awareness in face of the darkest of nights or risk succumbing to the Night – but at least there was a festive buffet of fresh food. Blake and Cally partook gladly, and, though he grumbled about it not being much of a party without drinks, Vila’s plate was equally piled high. Soon, they were free to mingle with the other guests, observing and participating in party games and small rituals or simply engaging in leisurely conversation over warmth and food.

It took Blake a long time to notice that Vila had slipped away.

He alerted Cally, and when their combined searching didn’t turn up the thief and he wouldn’t answer his bracelet, even when Jenna tried to reach him and teleport him from the _Liberator_ , Blake drew Heron to the side.

“What do you mean, your man is gone – not _outside_!”

“He’s not in here.”

“He can’t have gone far, Blake,” Cally said. “It’s an unfamiliar town. Perhaps he is on his way back to Avon and the bracelet is simply malfunctioning? I can go look for him.”

“ _Outside_?! You can’t!”

“I shall be very careful.”

Heron shook his head in vehement protest. “No, I mean it – you cannot open the door! The hour is late, it has been sealed – no one here will let you break the seal before the morning!” He waved his hand towards the entrance, where a large green wreath had been constructed in front of the door, covering handles and opening mechanisms. A pair of children were in the progress of threading yet more fairy lights through the greenery.

The teleport could easily have taken them outside, but Blake hesitated to use it in the middle of so crowded a room, a room full of civilians uninvolved with the rebellion. “But if Vila is out there…”

“He is in grave danger, probably already dead. I am very sorry, Blake, but you were warned. The Night is nothing to trifle with.”

“ _Dead_?! But what is out there?”

“I cannot say.” Heron clutched at his brooch, his face full of compassion and fear. “None who go out during the Night live to tell of their experiences.”

Exasperated, Blake turned away and thumbed his bracelet again. “Avon, do you copy?”

“What is it?” came Avon’s response immediately, annoyed. “I can’t work _and_ talk, Blake.”

“Vila has gone missing. Is he with you?”

“No, and before you ask, I haven’t seen him since you left for the party either. He’s probably back on the _Liberator_ , sleeping off his drinking binge.”

“He hasn’t teleported back up, and there is no alcohol here, Avon.”

“No alcohol? I can’t imagine he liked that much.”

“Heron says he may be in mortal danger if he’s outside,” Cally chimed in.

Predictably, Avon barked a laugh. “Run-away superstition. There’s nothing out there except for a longer night period.”

“You’re wrong!” Heron exclaimed. “Blake, your man is wrong!”

“Fine,” Avon pronounced sharply. “I need a break anyway. I’ll prove it to you, and find our resident thief, too.”

“He’ll die! Blake, you have to stop him!”

“Avon…”

“I’m armed. If I see anything more dangerous than a snow drift, I’ll ask Jenna to teleport me out. I’ll let you know when I’ve found Vila. Avon out.”

Avon cut the contact and ignored the further chiming of the bracelet. He needed to clear his head, and the brisk night air may just be the thing. He wasn’t stupid enough to go unarmed, of course. Most myths had some basis in truth, though he believed this one to be nothing more than a fear of the dark, so intrinsic to all humanoids. However, there might be Federation patrols out there.

He checked his weapon meticulously, making sure the power was connected and fully charged, then took a torch from his tools and made his way down the corridor and the stairs. He paused at the entrance, carefully shielding his light against his body – it was bright enough outside to see, thanks to the street decorations, and he didn’t want to be spotted by a patrol before he could even step into the open.

Heron had indicated that the patrols were stopped early for the Night, but Avon didn’t believe for a moment that the Federation would succumb to the local superstition. It was the perfect night for illicit activities, with everyone holed up at the parties, and the Federation would know it. If anything, the frequency of patrols should have increased. 

If they’d also known that the local rebel force was so superstitious, they could have saved themselves a night of work, Avon thought wryly as he drew the gun and opened the door.

* * *

Vila was breathing rapidly, heart thundering in his throat. His bracelet was useless. He fumbled with his lock picks, nearly dropping them altogether. His hands were shaking badly, his sight misted by his own breath and fear. The lock was simple, he knew it was simple, yet it resisted his efforts, resetting on his jerky trembling. If only he could, just for a moment, still his hands – he had to get off the street, he _had_ to, or he knew, with chilling certainty, that he would die.

He accidentally scratched himself with the probe, the pain bringing his mind into sudden, sharp focus. He twisted the pick in the lock, and finally, finally the door yielded to him. He pushed it open, stumbling into the dark hallway, hands searching desperately for a light switch.

There was strange, half-imagined sound behind him, like a storm, like baying hounds, like the alarms of an airlock cycling, like the blood pounding in his ears, as if whatever was outside was trying to seep in through the open door. Vila whirled, desperately trying to close the door, to jam the lock shut. Inside, even in the dark and the cold, was better than _out there_.

It was then that he spotted the figure, stumbling to their knees at the mouth of the cul-de-sac into which he had fled. For a moment, Vila thought him to be a spectre of death itself, freezing in shock – then, something of the way in which the other, a man, human like himself, fell onto his hands sparked recognition.

Avon.

“Oh hell.” Warring with bone-chilling terror, the door ready to close and save him, Vila hesitated. “Avon,” he hissed, afraid to be overheard, so desperately _afraid_. “Avon!”

Avon didn’t seem to hear him. Seemed to be barely keeping on all fours.

Against his better judgement, Vila squeezed back through the small opening in the door and ran to him, hauling him up by the arm. “What are you doing out here, you’re supposed to be fixing that computer, we need to get _inside, now_!”

Thankfully, Avon didn’t resist, stumbled along with Vila the moment he was on his feet and managed to slip through the door ahead of Vila with little prompting. Vila hurried inside and spun around, slamming the door shut, his probe burning out the lock before he had a moment to think about it – or a moment to lose the mechanism in the sudden total darkness.

Avon was breathing rapidly, huge, gasping, desperate gulps.

Vila couldn’t find a light switch. He flicked on a laser probe, just for the little bit of illumination it offered. It barely light up more than a few centimetres beyond the containment field, but enough to cast a pale glow of light upon Avon’s figure.

“I know why _I_ was out there; what were _you_ doing?” Vila snapped, still too shaken to bother being nice to anyone, least of all Avon who was supposed to know better.

Avon dragged in another breath, as if he were drowning. “Is there no more light?” he asked in a voice so unlike his own that Vila’s head came up sharply. “I had a torch…”

“I have one, somewhere. Hang on.” Vila swapped the probe to his other hand and fumbled for his pencil torch, always somewhere on his person. It wasn’t much, but it was better than the probe. Vila switched the torch on, the probe off, put it away, and took a good look at Avon.

The other man was ash-white, still nearly hyperventilating. His hair was in complete disarray, his gun dangling useless from his belt. No torch. He was also clutching at his shoulder, as if he’d been hurt. Under the merciless light of the pencil torch and Vila’s stare, he sank heavily to the floor.

“What’s wrong with you?” The sense of something evil, death dodging his heels, was rapidly fading now. Fear was no stranger to Vila, and he could handle it, even when there was something that enhanced it out of all proportion, something to that myth of the Night, after all. He could handle Avon, too, under normal circumstances. But this wasn't normal. He had _never_ seen Avon this rattled, not even when afraid.

Avon shook his head, almost plaintive. “I thought I was…” He dropped his hand from his shoulder, hesitantly, as if reluctant to release pressure from a wound. Vila could see no blood. “Is there no more light?” he asked again, voice shaking.

“What more do you want?” Vila looked around them – some kind of entrance hallway, a staircase just beyond where Avon huddled. “I don’t even know where we are, here, I just knew I needed to get inside.”

“Yes,” Avon agreed vaguely. “Get away from the Federation patrols…”

“ _What_ patrols? There’s nobody out there, Avon, if they have any sense! This Night is evil!” Vila knelt before him, bringing the light closer, just to see if Avon was hurt, after all; anything that may account for the uncharacteristic confusion. He dug into his pocket, pulling out the rumpled brooch Heron had given him – and that he had pocketed to be less visible when he’d given the party the slip. He pressed it into Avon’s shaking, ice-cold palms. “Here, more light! If I hadn’t listened to _you_ , I’d be safely back at that sorry excuse for a party! But no, I thought, it’s just a superstition, I thought, and with no one on the streets, what better opportunity for a thief, I thought…”

Avon shook his head, his fist tightening almost automatically over the brooch. “But I _was_ running. Federation patrols everywhere, looking for me. I was… shot…” He trailed off, sudden clarity returning to his expression. He grasped Vila’s wrist, dropping the brooch, jostling the torch. “Vila!”

“Back with me?”

“What the hell is going on?”

“You’re asking me? You’re the one rambling about Federation patrols and being shot!”

Avon’s free hand crept back to his shoulder. “I was…” His lips pressed together. “A hallucination. Something in the air, some particle only reaching the right concentration during the solstice night…”

“Some hallucination! The bracelets aren’t working, and I never saw anything – I was just scared out of my wits!”

“Isn’t that your natural state?” Avon quipped faintly, but it fell flat. “We need more light.” He returned his gun to the holster and stood. “Come on, there has to be a light in here somewhere.”

They headed up the stairs leading up from the entrance, taking the pencil torch and the brooch with them, like an island of light in the darkness. At the top was a long, straight corridor with doors leading off to either side, and another staircase at the end, faintly seen as Vila swept his circle of light along the walls.

“What’s this then, flats?”

“Some kind of office building, more likely, or something like a conference centre or a school.” Avon pointed at the little signs on each door frame. “Room labels, but no names.”

“Either way, it’ll have proper lights.” Vila made short work of the nearest door lock, and pushed inside, immediately finding the controls. Bright lights illuminated a row of tables and chairs, with a multimedia control centre at the front of the room. There were no windows.

Avon followed him inside, shutting the door. “This is better.”

“Yes, isn’t it?” Vila grinned in relief, the last flickers of terror fading. He perched on a desk, letting his legs dangle. “Shame there’s nothing to steal.” He looked Avon over. “You look like hell.”

“Yes, well, it’s not often that one has to relive one of one’s worst memories.” Avon cut himself off sharply, as if he’d said more than he intended. He sat heavily in a chair. His fingers were turning the brooch over restlessly and he was prodding again at his shoulder with the other hand.

“What’s wrong with that?”

Avon snatched his hand away from his shoulder, stilling his fingers as if frozen. “None of your business.”

“Talking might help. That’s what they were doing at that party. Just talking and passing around lights. Not even a small drink in the entire place. Not much of a party, if you ask me.”

“So you left?”

“Snuck out. Thought I might get a chance at keeping my hand in, you know, with everyone at those parties… Only then I became really afraid. Really _afraid_ , Avon. I ran, and then I knew I had to get inside” 

Avon nodded. “I was looking for you. I can see that I was hallucinating now, but at the time… I thought I was going to die – really die, this time. Probably I would have, if I’d stayed outside. The buildings must shield from the particles – and the light and company will counteract the small quantities that might filter inside, possibly no more than the population are exposed to at any other time of the year.”

Vila didn’t quite know what to do with this Avon who seemed to speak more to himself than to Vila, as if the words would have come out no matter whether Vila was there or not. Avon’s hand was twitching towards his shoulder again.

“Is your shoulder hurt?” Vila asked again, bluntly, hoping for a blunt answer in turn.

Avon’s head snapped up. “No. At least I don’t think so, not now.” Still, he stood, opening his thermal coat. He held out the brooch. “Do you want this back?”

“Keep it.”

Avon slipped it into a pocket with a nod and pushed the shirt he was wearing underneath his thermals off his shoulder. There was no fresh injury, no bruise and no blood, only a nasty scar, the residue of a round wound crudely stitched together from side to side. Vila had seen the scar before, in the communal showers of the _London_ , but hadn’t given it much thought then. Now, Avon’s fingers were ghosting over the scar almost questioningly, and Vila couldn’t help but wonder.

Being Vila, naturally loquacious especially when he was coming down from an adrenaline high, he immediately asked, “How did that happen, then?”

Avon jerked the shirt back over the scar and pulled the zipper of his thermals close. The brooch appeared back in his hand, as if he’d tried for a magic trick. “Being reminded once in a night is enough, Vila; I don’t care to recount the whole sorry story for your entertainment.” He tried his bracelet but received no response, neither from Blake nor from the _Liberator_. “Wonderful. I just hope that Blake doesn’t intend to stage a grand rescue. Though I don’t think the locals will let him leave. I expect the disturbance will clear up when the particles disperse at daybreak. The computer will have to wait, of course, thanks to you.”

“Hey! Thanks to me, you’re still alive!”

Avon said nothing, which Vila took as tacit agreement.

“What do you think would have happened to us, if I hadn’t cracked that lock?”

“I expect… heart failure. Death by fear. Or, failing that, exposure. It is very cold outside.”

“Wonderful.”

“Yes, rather.”

“And all the rituals and things, just to keep people indoors tonight?”

“Yes. Presumably the first casualties let the colonists to develop these safety measures for winter solstice nights, and over the generations, they were combined with general traditions of solstice and a healthy dose of mysticism, the original scientific reasons forgotten – if they were ever fully explored. It’s not my field, of course.”

Vila nodded and watched his swinging legs for a moment, glad that the silence did not immediately bring back the fear. “You know, I could imagine worse company than you.”

Avon very nearly laughed. “So could I. It’s not saying terribly much, Vila.”

“No, I mean it. Most things are too scared to get close to you, not like me. It makes me feel safer.”

“I shall remember that when you are hiding behind me in the next firefight Blake gets us into.”

“I _saved you_ out there! You’d have been lost without me there!” Not expecting a _thank you_ from Avon, Vila continued, “I wonder why I had no visual hallucinations.”

“I was wondering that,” Avon said, jumping onto the new conversation topic as if it _were_ a thank you. His voice was level and calm once more, though his hair was still ruffled out of all hope to put in order. “Maybe something in your physiology – perhaps the same something that makes you resistant to conditioning.”

“Well. It had to be good for something.” Vila yawned. “Can we sleep, do you think?”

“I don’t see why not. We should be safe in here.”

Vila pushed a few of the tables together to make a large enough surface to stretch out on and hopped up onto it. “Not very comfortable, but it’ll do me. Just…”

“… don’t turn out the lights?”

“Yeah.” Vila patted the tabletop. “There’s room enough for two, here, if you want.”

“I don’t think physical contact is necessary, Vila.”

“Still. You’re not working on that computer, you may as well sleep. The floor’s cold, those chairs don’t look comfy.”

Vila never knew when Avon gave in – being already asleep at the time – but when he woke up at some point in the night, Avon was slumbering peacefully beside him, curled into a small ball with his back to Vila.

* * *

By some internal agreement, they stood together at the open entrance door to watch the sunrise. It broke through the roads of the town, pale yellow beams in the misty, freezing cold morning air. A few scattered snowflakes danced about, stirred up by a brisk breeze. It was as though a dark shadow was being lifted from them.

Vila laughed as a snowflake touched his nose, relieved beyond reason. “You know, it was almost worth it if I get to feel this elated afterwards.”

“Speak for yourself,” Avon mumbled, but his expression was calm, a far cry from the terror-filled confusion of the dark night. “I suppose for all our advancements, we humans are still biologically primed to fear the dark and greet the return of the light with relief.”

“My… well, never mind, someone I used to know used to say, if we were meant to be out and about at night, we’d been born with night lenses.”

“ _That_ must be the reason why the life expectancy in the Delta sectors is higher than on Auron,” Avon said with a crooked grin.

“Eh? It is?”

“I have no idea – I doubt it. Just something I said to Cally when we were on the Ortega. Come on then. I think we can be reasonably sure it’s safe to go back now.”

They were long back in the computer room by the time Blake, Cally and Heron returned, the marks of a sleepless night upon them. Avon had been able to reach them – and the increasingly frantic Jenna onboard the _Liberator_ – at sunrise, but that hadn’t saved them from a night of worry and the pressure of forced inactivity. They certainly showed none of the elation that buoyed Avon and Vila’s mood.

Heron seemed to be entirely unable to believe that they had, in fact, survived, let alone the good spirits that they found them in. “I don’t understand. Both these men should be dead, Blake – not that I am not happy, for you…” He trailed off into uncomfortable silence.

“What was it, then?” Cally asked with an impish grin, as if she knew more than she reasonably could, “Mere superstition after all?”

Avon traded a quick glance with Vila, who was passing him tools. “I don’t think there’s anything I can say that will change the local tradition,” he said, “so why do you not let me get on with my work, after I squandered away half the night to rescue a wayward thief?”

Vila grinned, taking the comment in stride. As Avon’s insults went, it was barely a tickle. “You owe me a party, though, Blake,” he said, wagging the probe he was holding for Avon at their leader until Avon snatched it from him with a scowl. “A _real_ party, with _proper_ drinks.”

Blake smiled hesitantly, made uneasy by the air of camaraderie about the two men. It had never spelled anything good before. “Perhaps when we are back on the _Liberator_ , Vila.”

“No, I insist. Besides, maybe I’ve acquired a taste for it. The return of the light and all seems worth celebrating, so long as it’s done _properly_.”

Knowing how easily the thief’s energy could turn towards crime, especially when Avon was inclined to assist him, Blake let Vila have his party, the very evening they were back on board. The _Liberator_ was speeding out of Federation space and was comfortingly warm and bright; an impromptu party seemed little enough trouble after the disquieting Night. Jenna was bemused by the whole thing, not having been down on the planet. Cally, though she had been and was happy to respect foreign traditions, didn’t think much of the fairy lights and left-over prickly green wreaths that Heron had given them together with their payments and that Vila had, with a wry grin, draped over the edge of the flight deck seating area. Blake was just glad that he hadn’t had to veto an open fire in the middle of the flight deck.

Avon didn’t share his thoughts, he but joined them for the food and drinks. He, of course, had missed the entire party down on the planet, though Blake had seen him looking at one of the brooches with an analyser earlier – Vila’s, probably. Avon was toying with it even now, spinning it idly between his fingers.

“What’s up with those things, then?” Vila asked, waving towards the brooch with his garishly blue drink.

“Heron said they were a kind of protective charm,” Cally said. She had chosen not to continue wearing her own, but it sat in the small grove at the top of her flight deck console.

Predictably, Avon scoffed, holding the brooch up to the bright illumination of the flight deck. “There is nothing special about these brooches at all; they barely contain any technology and certainly none that could be effective as a means of protection – a small power source, a light, nothing else.” He closed his hand around it, his expression turning inward for a moment. “But I have done some research in solstice myths," Avon continued slowly. "Supposedly the symbolic value is what matters, a token of light to, ah, shall we say, keep a friend safe from the darkness?”

He looked up, met Vila’s gaze and smiled.


End file.
